


Not a Date

by aphreal



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphreal/pseuds/aphreal
Summary: In a British-flavored modern Thedas, there exists The Knight Shop, a place where clients can hire knights for quests of all sorts: home or automotive repair, gardening, being a plus-one for an event, standing around looking intimidating, or (in one particular case) fencing practice.After hiring Alistair for regular sparring sessions to prepare for a fencing tournament, Alexia Cousland asked to take him out to dinner to thank him for his help. At his insistence, it's not a job on the Shop books. But that doesn't mean it's a date. It's just... dinner.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Knight Shop AU is a multiauthor shared world and probably one of the best bits of ridiculousness I've been involved in. Further information and all of the fics and art for the world, including the events that lead up to this fic, can be found at the official AU masterpost here:  
> http://trulycertain.tumblr.com/post/157068238148/the-knight-shop-au-masterpost

Alistair stared at the overly large house as he walked up the overly long drive, telling himself there was no reason to be intimidated, while wiping sweaty palms on the side of his slacks. The house really was unreasonably large, though, the sprawling sort of place that came with its own grounds and garden staff, that had space for a private fencing gym, and that he’d always assumed must have walk-in closets bigger than his entire flat. Not that he’d ever been invited upstairs to have seen closets or bedrooms – or ever expected to be.

Maker’s breath, what was he doing here? This was a terrible idea.

But walking away now would be an even more terrible idea. He’d only ended up here at all thanks to timely intervention from Cass and Gal, so there was no way he’d get another chance if he forfeited this one. And he wouldn’t deserve one if he turned coward and ran, anyway. He was supposed to be a knight, damn it.

Also, a curtain had just twitched in one of the front windows, which meant someone had seen him coming. Someone short, if he judged the height of the sill right. So now he couldn’t turn tail. Because while putting his foot in his mouth was something of a perpetual hobby, he drew the line at embarrassing himself quite so thoroughly in front of a kid. Or the family dog, for that matter. There were a few lines worth holding, and those were among his.

Maybe it wasn’t surprising that Josie had been dubious about letting him write his own Code, now that he thought about it. “I swear that I will not embarrass myself in front of mabari” was probably not quite what potential clients were looking for in a knight.

When Alistair finally reached the door, his knock was answered by a somewhat familiar dark-haired man with a hint of a beard and a smile just this side of menacing. This was the older brother he’d seen in passing – the one usually casting him dark, suspicious looks from across a room – currently standing in a half-open doorway regarding him very carefully. Maybe there was still time to cut and run after all…

“Hello. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Fergus.” The outstretched hand felt more like a challenge than a welcome, and it woke Alistair’s lifelong reflex of standing up to the sort of prep school boys who looked down on a scruffy orphan.

Taking the offered hand, he looked Fergus firmly in the eye and pointedly didn’t quite put his full strength into the grip. “I’m Alistair. It’s nice to finally meet you. Alexia talks about you a lot.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what she says.” Fergus’s smile thawed a fraction as he released Alistair’s hand, like Alistair had maybe cleared the first in a series of hurdles without falling flat on his face. “I imagine I’m not who you were expecting at the door. Alexia will be ready –“

“Now.” The door was pulled the rest of the way open, Alexia thankfully appearing next to her brother, fixing him with a firm stare Alistair was glad not to be on the receiving end of. “Alexia will be ready now, Alexia will be leaving now, and you will be staying out of things that you don’t need to get involved in.” Placing a hand in the center of her brother’s chest, she pushed him back a step to clear the doorway and step out.

Fergus laughed, raising his hands in surrender but looking entirely unrepentant. “Have a good time, pup.”

Alexia shot her brother a look of mixed irritation and affection before closing the door on him and finally turning her attention to Alistair with a slightly apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that. Twenty-one, done with my degree, managing projects for the family company, competing in championship fencing… and my older brother still wants to meddle in my life.” She shook her head with an exasperated huff of breath, then shrugged with a small smile. “At least it’s nice that he cares.”

Alistair realized he should probably try to keep up his side of the conversation. Or a conversation, at least. Say something appropriate to going out to dinner with a woman he… with a woman. “You look… nice. Um, very nice?”

And while she did, with her hair mostly loose and a light blue top that was definitely more flattering than the arming jacket he was used to seeing her in, he really could have said that better. A lot better. Alistair cast around for something more articulate than insultingly faint praise, while simultaneously trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head that said his fumbling proved her brother was right and he didn’t belong here.

Rather than being put off by his misstep, Alexia took the vague compliment in stride with a soft laugh. “Because I’m not armed for once, so you can relax?”

“No, I like how you look armed. I mean… Not wearing the mask, because you have a good face, or in the jacket with all the padding, because, um, well… right. But you look confident that way, and the sword suits you, and…” He raised a hand to his face, muffling a groan and willing himself to please shut up, even as he muttered between his fingers. “Also, no, I can’t relax.”

“So I see.” Rather than laughing at him – or realizing she’d made a mistake and going back into her nice big house free of babbling idiots – Alexia touched his forearm, gently tugging the hand from his face so he had to look at her. “I’m sorry Fergus rattled you; he has this idea that it’s his job to protect me, even when I very much don’t need it. And that seems to involve menacing everyone he hasn’t known longer than I have.” Her weary half smile offered sympathy rather than passing judgment. “Fortunately, Fergus isn’t joining us for dinner tonight. I invited you, not him.”

The soft touch on his arm, the reassuring smile, the fact that she seemed to genuinely want to spend time with him in spite of him being, well, him… Something loosened in Alistair’s chest, and his breath came easier.

Daring, he offered Alexia his arm. It was an outdated gesture, but he figured he might get away with it, being a knight and all.

He tried not to look too surprised when she accepted, her hand resting lightly on his forearm as she fell into step beside him, walking comfortably towards the street. Suddenly, he didn’t mind the excessive length of the driveway quite so much.

 

The restaurant was classy and hushed and elegant, pretty much everything he’d hoped it would be, which was a huge relief since he’d never been here. He’d made reservations on a gamble at a restaurant he remembered Isolde talking about years ago, figuring somewhere she liked would have to be a more appropriate place to take Alexia than anywhere he was familiar with. Their table was ready when they walked in, and Alistair held his breath, suspicious of things going too smoothly. He thought about pulling out Alexia’s chair for her, since the arm thing had worked out, but the maître d’ beat him to it, so he just sat down across the table from her and tried to pretend he wasn’t totally out of his depth.

Alexia barely glanced at the menu, looking at him instead, her smile warm and comfortable. “What do you suggest here?”

Alistair stared down at the menu quickly, hoping he could fake a recommendation. There had to be something that he could suggest. Hadn’t Isolde raved about a favorite dish here? He scanned the entree list desperately, hoping something would jog his memory. In the process, he noticed the prices.

Stunned, Alistair dropped the menu like it had burnt him, staring at it in horror. “I didn’t realize this was… I’ve never been here, just heard about it. And no one mentioned the prices.” A voice from one of Eamon’s friends, echoing in his head, _If you have to ask what it costs, you can’t afford it._ He should have known. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to…”

“Alistair, relax.” Alexia reached across the table to set her hand on top of his, her unexpected touch shocking him into silence. “I told you to choose a restaurant you’d like for tonight, right?”

“You did, but that doesn’t mean –“

She wrapped her hand around his more firmly, her fingers soft but strong, and all words vanished from his brain, and thankfully also from his mouth.

Alexia tilted her head, continuing to pursue her point. “This is a restaurant you wanted to try?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to…” He couldn’t think while she was looking at him like that, but he needed her to understand this. So he looked away from her kind eyes, the rest of his words coming out in an awkward mumble directed at the table surface. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you being... a Cousland.” He’d offer to pay his half of the bill to prove it, but well, at these prices he couldn’t afford to. Not on a knight’s wages.

“I wasn’t worried about it. You don’t seem like the type.” Her amused tone drew his gaze back up in time to catch a flash of a wry grin. “Besides, if you were after money, you wouldn’t have turned down a contract for tonight.”

“I guess there’s that.” His weak attempt at a smile died out quickly as his eyes drifted back to the abandoned menu and its exorbitant prices. He should have realized somewhere appropriate to take Alexia was somewhere he had no place being.

“Hey, listen to me.” Alexia’s voice had turned firm, but there was something compassionate in her face when he dragged his gaze back up to meet hers. “I offered to take you to dinner, and I didn’t put restrictions on that. This is about thanking you, not making you feel guilty.” Her thumb brushed back and forth over his knuckles, somehow both reassuring and making his breath catch. “If you’re uncomfortable being here, we’ll leave. But don’t decide that on my account. What I want is to do something nice for you, so that’s all I care about: Do you want to be here?”

Sitting with a beautiful woman – _this_ beautiful woman – holding his hand and looking at him like he mattered… The restaurant was irrelevant, and there was only one possible answer. “Of course.”

“Good. Then consider dinner as… a gift.” Her lips curled into the slightly mischievous, teasing smile he’d seen on the fencing strip a hundred times. “And it’s not polite to worry about what a gift costs.”

He relaxed, matching her grin and wondering how long she would keep holding his hand before she noticed. “Hmm… I’m not sure politeness is specifically listed in the Code, but it sounds like the sort of thing that should be.”

“Courteous?” She shrugged with a casualness at odds with the glint in her eye. “It’s right in there between friendly and kind.”

Had she just… The smirk playing around her lips confirmed it, and Maker, if she hadn’t been perfect before… now she’d joined in on confusing his Code with the Scout Law. She knew the Scout Law well enough to do reference it off the top of her head, and he didn’t even care how.

“Courteous sounds close enough that I’d better not risk it. Even if I am sort of off duty tonight.”

“Only sort of?” She tilted her head curiously, hair sliding free to leave the side of her neck bare, and why did he find that so captivating when she’d had her hair pulled off her neck the entire time he’d known her?

Did she realize she was still holding his hand?

She was also staring at him and expecting words. “There’s no official contract for this, but I’m still a knight.” He was rather proud that he’d stopped himself at the last minute from finishing that with _your knight_. It might give the wrong impression, since this wasn’t a date, after all.

“And as a knight, you are honor-bound to enjoy yourself this evening. Which starts with picking something to eat based entirely on what you’d like to have.” She gave him a firm look to reinforce her words before taking her hand back and picking up the menu to start looking over the options.

Alistair tried to do likewise, doing his best to focus on the descriptions of the food while ignoring both the prices and the lingering echo of her fingers wrapped around his.

 

Enjoying himself proved remarkably easy. The food was fantastic, and the company even better. They only had one glass of wine each, but apparently Alexia’s tolerance was on a par with his. Which meant nearly nonexistent. Her smiles got brighter and her words less guarded, and he hadn’t imagined it was possible for her to keep getting more attractive, but Maker help him, he was doomed.

At that point, it took very little coaxing to get Alexia to launch into a full account of her matches from the tournament. He’d been there to watch, of course, but that couldn’t compare to getting a blow by blow analysis from an expert. She described moves that had been so quick he hadn’t even seen them, and he got the feeling he could learn more from an hour of listening to her talk about swordplay than from all the training he’d done back in SCA. He’d enjoy it more, too.

Because her entire face lit up when she talked about fencing, the same spark in her eyes he’d seen every time she pulled off her mask after a bout. He’d happily listen to her talk about swordplay for as long as she wanted, basking in that passionate excitement. But after a spirited demonstration of a flunge that nearly knocked a wineglass off the table, she offered him a sheepish grin, and they mutually declared fencing off limits for the rest of the night, for the sake of the glassware.

Casting about for other topics of conversation, Alexia ended up telling stories about her five-year-old nephew Oren. From her fond tone, it was clear she adored the boy. And her occasional far-too-innocent smiles as she described the trouble he got into suggested that Oren had a ready accomplice for some of his more creative troublemaking. He sounded like an energetic, creative boy, none of his mischief out of the ordinary. Alistair was certain he’d gotten up to far worse as a bored, ignored foster child left to make his own entertainment in a too-big house full of expensive things that it turned out weren’t meant to be tested for structural integrity, aerodynamic properties, or flammability.

After finishing up a particularly convoluted story involving a mabari and lawn sprinklers, Alexia chuckled awkwardly and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her temple. “I feel like I’m doing too much of the talking, and I should give you a chance.”

He laughed. “No one’s ever complained about me not talking before. Usually it’s the other way around.”

“You’ve heard more than anyone could ever need to know about daily life with the Couslands, so it’s your turn now.” She tilted her head to one side, grey eyes inquiring. “Tell me about your family.”

“You’ve already met most of them, at least in passing.” He tried to think who she’d be most inclined to remember. “Cass – she’s the one who called you, remember? – is very much a big sister, the one who’ll call you on it to your face when you’re being an idiot but also the one who’ll cover your shift so you can go see the girl you fancy. Because she really does care even though she pretends not to. Gal is everyone’s protective older brother. Not just for us at the shop. _Everyone_.” She looked confused, so he stopped to clarify. “Gal’s the one who –“

“The one with the massive book who’s remarkably effective at blocking a doorway.” Alexia nodded. “I recall. He’s… memorable.”

“He really is.” Alistair grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially. “For the first three months I worked at the shop, I couldn’t remember his name, so I kind of avoided him and referred to him as ‘tall, dark, scary, tattoos’. Everyone seemed to know who I meant.” He shrugged innocently, enjoying the laugh that earned him, before picking back up with the shop roster. “Blackwall is that uncle, the kind everyone has one of, I think. He’s done all sorts of things and there’s so much you could learn from him, and you want to, but you can never be sure whether he’s going to answer your question or make an off-color joke at your expense.” At Alexia’s slightly puzzled look, he huffed a half laugh. “Posh families don’t have uncles like that?”

“Oh, no, we definitely do. The jokes may vary, but probably not as much as you’d think.” The wry twist to her lips suggested some private joke, but she continued before he could pry. “I was trying to remember which of the knights Blackwall is, that’s all. I don’t think I’ve met everyone.”

“He’s the one with the beard. If you’d seen it, you’d remember. You’d probably get a pass on his jokes, since you’re a client.” Except with how much Blackwall had enjoyed poking fun at him over Alexia this week, that might not be completely true. “But to be on the safe side, if you ever need to talk to him, stick to fencing. He used to compete, too, so he’d like that. Let’s see, who else… Erren is the cool cousin, the one you always hope will invite you along when she’s planning mischief or mayhem.”

“What about… I don’t think we’ve been introduced. The other blond knight?”

“Oh, Cullen?” Alistair tried to decide how to sum up several years of existing in the same spheres and being more than acquaintances but not quite close enough to exactly be sure they were friends. “He’s… the other sort of older brother, I guess. The kind who stays out of things – for real, not the passive-aggressive way Gal pretends to – the kind who stands back and lets you make your own mistakes and hopes you learn from them. But you know if you ever asked him for help, he’d be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked.”

“They sound wonderful.”

Her smile looked genuine, and Alistair felt something in his chest ease, a tension he hadn’t even been aware of. She understood; she took him seriously. She didn’t treat his being a knight like a stupid adolescent game that he hadn’t managed to grow out of. Of course, Alexia had never given him a reason to think she would see it that way, but well, he’d had a lifetime of conditioning from people who lived in that sort of huge house and spoke in that sort of posh accent and could eat at this sort of expensive restaurant. Acceptance always came as something of a surprise.

“How does someone get to be a knight?” Alexia interrupted his thoughts before they could get too far away from him, and he nearly thanked her for the distraction.

“Why? Are you interested in being one?” The question was teasing, but honestly, the idea wasn’t that far-fetched, given what he’d learned about her in the past couple of months.

She laughed, but it wasn’t mocking or cruel. “I already have a job that keeps me plenty busy. I’m just curious; it’s not like knighthood shows up in the standard career choices. So how does it happen? Do you apply, or are you nominated? What sort of training is there? Do you all swear to the same Code, or do they vary?” She shrugged, glancing down for a fraction of a second. “Sorry, I’m just intrigued. You’re not what I expected when I went looking for a training partner.”

Alistair resisted the urge to follow up on that last part, not sure he wanted to know what she had expected, how he’d failed to live up to her expectations. That way he could pretend he’d surprised her in a good way. Instead of thinking about it too much, he focused on answering her questions about the shop, spending the whole of dessert describing Josie’s meticulously thorough vetting process, as well as the careful crafting of a knight’s individual Code of Honor, which apparently wasn’t actually allowed to include mabari or be cribbed from the Scout Law, who knew.

 

After dinner, they walked back to the Cousland estate, an easy few blocks that Alistair suddenly wished were much longer. He wasn’t sure he could pull off offering her his arm again, and he knew beyond a doubt that he wasn’t bold enough to take her hand. But Maker’s breath, he wanted to.

Even though this wasn’t a date.

“So did this turn out all right, then?” Alexia sounded strangely hesitant, unusually unsure of herself.

“Probably. Everything seems fine to me.” Other than the ever-shortening distance to saying goodbye and quite likely walking out of her life. Trying to ignore that, he shot her a grin. “Which ‘this’ are we talking about?”

Her look of mild annoyance was totally spoiled by an amused smile she wasn’t even trying to fight. “This.” She gestured vaguely, in a totally unhelpful clarification. “Tonight. Me thanking you. You relaxing enough to enjoy yourself.”

Did she really need to ask? “This –“ he repeated her random hand-waving with a teasing grin “- was more than fine. It was very much beyond fine, even. You didn’t need to do this, but I’m really glad you did.”

“Good.” She smiled, content and pleased and so lovely that it physically hurt.

“I do have one problem, though.” The words spilled out before he could think better of them. “I don’t know when I’m going to see you again.”

Alexia looked startled, her lips parting without any sound emerging as she studied him with eyes that suddenly saw far too much.

Alistair rushed on, trying to make a joke of it, to cover up his awkward lapse into too much honesty. “Are you _sure_ you don’t have another tournament you need to train for?”

He counted her weak laugh as a victory. “Not right now. The season really is over, I’m afraid. Matches won’t begin again for at least five months. I’ll conscript Fergus, or maybe even father, to spar with me often enough that I don’t get too rusty in the meantime.”

Of course. It was stupid to be disappointed. He’d known he was a temporary resource for her, someone to train with for a set time period with a specific purpose in mind. It wasn’t her fault he’d gotten greedy enough – attached enough – to wish for more.

“Although…” She tilted her head, studying him sidewise as she walked. “Who’s going to stop you from losing _your_ edge?”

“What?” He tried to tamp down on a surge of hope.

“You’ve gotten quite good in the past six weeks. It would be a shame to have you completely backslide and lose all of that progress.” Her lips twitched, and then she nodded decisively. “Train with me for the next five months, and I promise you’ll be ready to compete next season. I can’t guarantee you’ll win, but you’ll definitely qualify.” Her enthusiasm faltered, and she looked down with a soft laugh. “Assuming you even want to compete, which I shouldn’t decide for you.”

“Of course I want to!” Alistair didn’t know whether he was more excited about Alexia wanting to spend time with him on a regular basis for the foreseeable future or the chance to fence competitively himself. Well, okay, that was a lie. But the fencing would be nice, too.

“Oh, good. I’m glad.” He caught a glimpse of something less than composed – could he hope for relief? – before her usual confidence returned. “Are you free tomorrow? If you come by around five, that would give us at least a solid hour to train before I need to get cleaned up for family dinner.”

Tomorrow? He hadn’t imagined he’d get to see her again that soon. “Sure, I could do tomorrow. You want to set regular practice times on Fridays, then?” He tried to remember the current rota and who he’d have to beg to switch him shifts to finish earlier on Friday afternoons.

“Actually…” Alexia’s lips twitched in the way he’d learned signaled uncertainty. “Could you manage more than one day a week?”

He tried not to get his hopes up. “Probably. How much more?”

“Um… as many as possible?” Alexia offered him a hopeful smile. “If you want to be ready to compete in time, you’ll need as much practice as we can manage. I’d want to train any day that you could be free by five.”

Right, so forget swapping a few shifts, he’d need to talk to Josie about switching to more mornings overall. “I’ll see what I can do.” He tried to remind his pulse that this was about fencing training, not Alexia wanting to specifically spend time with him. It didn’t listen. “You sure you won’t get sick of me with that much exposure?”

“Not at all.” Alexia brushed a hand over his arm, and there went any hope of controlling his heart rate. “To be honest, I’m looking forward to it.”

Her smile made his breath catch, and he couldn’t manage anything but returning it, staring at her in elated, mute disbelief. After a moment, Alexia ducked her head, and he thought he saw a faint blush on her cheek before the loose hair slid forward obscuring it.

They reached her door before Alistair managed to wrestle his thoughts into any semblance of order. Pausing on the doorstep, Alexia favored him with another smile, warm but slightly awkward, and he firmly reminded himself that this wasn’t a date.

“Thank you again, for all of your help. I’m glad that you enjoyed dinner.” Was he imagining the hesitation, tiny cracks in her usual composure?

“I, yes, you’re welcome. And thank you. Dinner was… Tonight was…” He should definitely not be criticizing anyone else’s composure.

Her smile was kind, no amusement at his expense, no matter how justifiable that would have been. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, yes. At five. I’ll be here.” He clamped his jaw shut on any further rambling.

“I’ll see you then. Good night, Alistair.” With a final smile lingering on her lips, Alexia vanished behind a closing door.

Alistair scolded himself out of standing on her doorstep staring stupidly after her with a firm reminder that there could be a mabari watching. Walking down the far-too-long driveway, he put his hands in his pockets and stared up at the emerging stars. Tonight hadn’t been a date, but he’d spent a wonderful evening with a perfect woman, and he’d be seeing her again in less than twenty four hours.

Even the thought of what he’d have to owe Erren to get her to cover the end of his shift tomorrow wasn’t enough to dampen his mood. Whatever she asked for in return, it would be worth it.


End file.
